


Eternal Sin

by serapheim



Category: DBSK|Tohoshinki|TVXQ, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angels, Archangels, Bible, Dante - Freeform, Declarations Of Love, Demons, Eternal Sin, Fallen Angels, Forbidden Love, Friendship/Love, God - Freeform, Heaven, Hell, Love Confessions, M/M, Pain, Quotations, Sacrifice, Torture, Unrequited Love, Wings, sin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 16:46:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serapheim/pseuds/serapheim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His love was a sin, and there was a sacrifice he had to make.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eternal Sin

**Author's Note:**

> The idea is not new. I used it in the original piece I wrote awhile ago (even the title is almost the same). But that one was much more dark, I guess. I referenced Bible and Dante a lot. See the ending notes for references.

Watching him leave made his heart clench with pain, though his mind kept telling him that nothing could possibly go wrong. But somehow he knew, could feel it in his gut, that it might be the last time he saw him. And his heart beat with uneven rhythm, almost choking him, the uncertainty squeezing his throat and not letting the words escape his mouth.   
  
“Yoochun?..”   
  
A dazzling smile and a quirked eyebrow. He forced himself remember every line of the beloved face, capture and store in his memory the way his dark eyes shined and his full lips curled.   
  
Even the fear of losing him couldn’t make him utter those words.   
  
“Just... be careful.”   
  
Because he still hoped, that he was wrong, and he still though that holding back the sacred words would make them less true, less of a sin.   
  
But he didn’t believe it much himself.   
  
*****  
  
Dark? Why is it so dark in here? Why can’t I feel a thing?   
Where am I? Who am I? Why do I feel like I have forgotten something? Something very important.   
Someone.   
Someone? But who? Why, why is it so important to remember whom?   
What was that name? My name? No, not my name. The other’s name. I have to remember it. But why? Why do I have to do it?   
It is so warm here. Cozy and warm. Why would one want to get out of here? Why do I want to get out of here? What is it outside? Where is outside?   
I am sleepy. So tired. But I mustn’t sleep. I-I’ll just close my eyes for a second.   
Just for a second... it will help me… to concentrate… yeah.   
It will… help… me…   
Help…   
  
*****  
  
It took him several minutes to brace himself, to settle his thoughts and firmly set his mind on what he was going to do. It wasn’t about hesitation or fear - Here thou must all distrust behind thee leave; Here be vile fear extinguished [1]. Not at all. He had long made up his mind - the very moment he had heard the news. It was just about trying to calm his feverishly beating heart and sort his thoughts – no emotion was permitted to escape before he did what he had to do.   
  
In front of him a church looked like a ghostly silhouette framed by the turquoise blueness of the sky. Almost gingerly he made the remaining few steps and entered the House of God. Walking into the dim light of the inner hall, he stopped for a moment, breathing in the thick air, heavy with the scented smell of lit candles. It was strange to be there, odd to having to resort to such a primitive form of communication with his Lord. But he needed this, craved even, and knew better than to try to return to the place, he once used to call a home. Before it all. Before the sin, before the betrayal, before the self-imposed exile.   
  
Walking inaudibly through the aisle, the rows of pews on either side of him, the wood polished and warmed by the dozens of people, who sat or kneeled there, were left unnoticed; his eyes were set unmoving on his goal – the altar. Reaching his destination, he watched the candles flicker and tremble at his approach. He had an unpleasant feeling, that he wasn’t welcomed there, as suddenly the tiny flames went out.   
  
  
The head held up high in spite of rising guilt and uneasiness twisting his stomach into knots, he looked up at the crucifixion of his Lord, waiting for the sign. With the candles withered, the interior lost its warm glow, instantly filling him with bitter coldness. The silence was disturbing and accusing.   
  
Slowly he lowered himself onto his knees. Looking up and fighting back the tears, which he knew, would spill any minute, he whispered: “I am not asking for forgiveness, Father. Only for understanding.” He paused. “And... and strength.”   
  
Seconds stretched into minutes, when suddenly one of the candles flared up in the darkness. The dancing light sent quivering shadows over his face. Overwhelmed with mix of feelings he couldn’t only master out a barely audible ‘thank you’.   
  
*****  
  
“Through me you pass into the city of woe:   
Through me you pass into eternal pain:   
Through me among the people lost for aye.” [2]   
  
He paused again before entering the gates. Solemnly he stood watching the morbid scenery behind the thin bars. Where the wind played with his dark locks, grabbing the fistfuls of his mortal clothing, a dress shirt and plain jeans, and where the nature bloomed with green and red -  there was life. Where the wind died, the trees stood bare and dark, and no animal or bird dared to enter - there was the land of the dead.   
  
“All hope abandon, ye who enter here,” he whispered quietly. Pushing the gates open with all the might he had, he entered the cemetery. [3]  
  
For a second he stood, listening, but he could hear nothing. The gates swung shut behind him, but he paid it no notice. Cautiously he advanced forward, the dead leaves rustling under his feet. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but he was sure, he’d get a sign.   
  
He was passing stone crosses and statues, gravestones and burial-vaults - every  being a sombre reminder of human frailty. Reaching the heart of the grave land, he saw a black raven, sitting on a nameless headstone. It was a sign, as good as any other, so he stopped and stared at the Death Messenger.   
  
  
“Changmin,” the name dropped from his lips with the meaningfulness of a secret password. For a moment nothing changed, and then the black bird dissolved in a wisp of smoke. The smoke shifted restlessly over the tombstone, quickly growing in its size and shaping into a human form. With every passing second the form gained more solidity, as the last bits of smoke cleared, and it revealed a handsome young man in a dark suit, sitting on the edge of tombstone - the place previously occupied by the raven.   
  
“Hello there,” he said, flashing his white teeth. Dark strands of hair were partially concealing the endless blackness of his eyes. Perfectly shaped face was one of the youngster, but the expression clearly spoke of age and power: “So, what do you want from me?”   
  
“As if you don’t know,” came the swift answer. He frowned, not used to such games, but having anticipated it. “I want you to release him.”   
  
“Oh, that,” more white teeth. “I suppose, you know the price for that, don’t you?”   
  
A curt nod was all he could master. Swallowing a sudden limp in his throat at the obviously predatory smile of the other he said, hoping that he sounded firm enough: “But I want you to release him first.”   
  
“Oh, really?” the perfectly carved face wore a parody of confusion. “And how do I know, that you would fulfill your part of the bargain and not just flee away with your precious one?”   
  
“I give you my word,” the words fell like stones, a deadweight, between them.   
  
For a second it seemed that the whole world was sucked into the empty void – the silence that settled for that brief moment was not just deafening, it seemed to be the anti-sound itself. Than suddenly the sounds returned at once, as the youth in the dark suit let the laughter erupt through his lips. But it died as quickly as it was born. His dark, inhuman eyes settled on the young man before him, as his face turned into the mask of pure malice.   
  
“You are a fool!” he hissed. “Just like Him. He taught you nothing! You think it is very noble to go and sacrifice yourself for somebody? You think it will make Him love you more? Think it will make a difference?”   
His voice was laced with unexpected bitterness. “He will hardly notice it at all. You think He cares for you?” He leaned forward from his seat at the top of the tombstone, his face adorned by a mocking sympathy. “You are just a pawn. A stupid meaningless worthless pawn!” He spat out.  
  
All through the tirade the man in question stood there silently, his face turned down, his hands clenched at his sides. He knew that the other said those foul things only to disturb him, to rob him of the blissful peacefulness and purity of thoughts, which he had gained with great effort. He knew it was just the purpose of his evil existence to confuse and to make a person doubt everything, even himself. So with conscious effort he willed all anger away. Anger, pain and doubt were not His companions.   
  
The other fell silent. His look was almost contemplative, almost judging as he stared at the man before him. Finally he jumped off his self-made throne and made few steps to stand before the other man. “So be it,” he said.   
  
The sky was quickly darkening above their heads. The clouds were growing, getting darker, until they completely consumed all the blueness of the sky. But even as all of it was swallowed, the clouds didn’t stop moving. They whirled in circles with the restfulness of hungry sharks, circling their prey. And then suddenly a lightening crossed the sky once. Then another, and another, as the whole sky seemed to descend onto them in one powerful tornado. When the end – or the top – of it reached the earth not far from them, it burst, sending a brief but powerful gust of wind in their direction and leaving a crumpled and unmoving figure on the ground.   
  
He swallowed. Seeing the only person he truly cared about, the one who was the sole reason he was making this deal, battered like that, undeniably hurt and wounded made him feel dead inside. He wasn’t even sure that his friend was alive…   
  
“He is alive,” the voice unceremoniously interrupted his thoughts. Just at that moment he saw the form tremble and a small groan escaped. His heart soared with joy. He was alive, and that was all that mattered. The dark haired man turned to the other, his confidence renewed. The young man with black eyes just smirked and, stretching out his hand in clear demand, said only one word: “Talk.”   
  
  
The word was spoken quietly but with such a force, that a shiver ran down his spine. Shaking his head a little, his hand sneaked under the hem of his white shirt, searching for, finding, grabbing and taking out a silver chain with a pendant. It was shaped as a rose, fully blossomed, each petal delicately carved out of silver. He breathed in deeply and tore the chain off his neck. Holding it out in his hand just a bit over the outstretched palm of the other he said: “My name is Jaejoong.” And let the chain fall out of his grasp.   
  
The bolt of lightening lit the cemetery as two big white wings revealed themselves behind the his back. Stripped off his all defenses, he could only watch as the young man in a suit clasped the chain around his neck in a morbid imitation of a winning trophy, where it was accompanied by other chains of various lengths. Looking at all those pendants, each unique and once belonging to an angel, made him feel sick.   
  
“Jaejoong,” it seemed as if the other was trying to taste his name, the wicked smile hovering on his lips. Jaejoong shivered as the other drew closer to him and raising his hand touched the angel’s cheek - something that he would have never dared to do before.   
  
“You are afraid, aren’t you?” the murmured question reached his ears. The breath that tickled his skin was both luxuriously warm and hellishly cold at the same time. It spoke of the places the sun knows nothing about and where the winter is the only sovereign. The tenderness of the touch was fake; the warmth radiating from the hand was fleeting, but he felt helpless in the face of seduction, feeling himself lean into the touch and close his eyes.   
  
“Don’t worry, the pretty one, I will be gentle,” the roar of laughter was drowned by a deafening roll of thunder as the wind rose yet again, this time attacking Jaejoong with its full force. It pawed at his clothes, pulled at his hair, grazed his skin, with nothing resembling gentleness, and crawling to its aim – the wings. Jaejoong couldn’t suppress a sudden cry of pain as the first white feather was pulled out. The wind whirled it before his eyes mockingly and then continued with its angry feast.   
  
A feather after feather was pulled out, some with even with the bits of his skin and meat, joining the dance around Jaejoong. The feathers whirled splattering him and his clothes with his own blood. It hurt, it burned, but he couldn’t make it stop, because it was something he had initiated in the first place. It was what he wanted. It was the price to pay. The pain throbbed trough his body, blurring his eyesight and only his will kept him on his feet.   
  
“Stop!”   
  
And there was dead silence again. Everything stopped moving, submitting to the powerful demand. The abominable whirlpool around Jaejoong froze its pace in a white and bloody blur. But the pain didn’t disappear, though he was grateful even for this brief rest. Blinking the tears of pain away he looked up to see what caused such an abrupt stop of his torture.   
  
The heavens, although still heavily overcast, opened wide to let a single sunbeam reach the earth. It was the sign of His presence, as was the arrival of His messenger. But he was no ordinary angel, but an archangel, dressed in white robes, a sword on his hip and the powerful wings spread out in all their glory. Jaejoong knew him, knew his name, although he didn’t dare to say it even in his mind, as even that not belonged to him anymore.   
  
The archangel’s face was serene, his pose radiating confidence – that was how an angel was supposed to look. But the dark eyes that looked at Jaejoong were far from calm. They spoke of worry and confusion - something which was not common for him. A random thought crossed his mind as he viewed the archangel: “We used to be friends”.  
  
“Well, well, well. This is getting interesting!” Jaejoong turned to see the dark youth stare at the archangel intensely. “So, He sends us His warrior-angel. What is so special about him,” - he pointed his finger at Jaejoong - “that He made you come here to judge him?”   
  
“All Lord’s children are special to Him,” was the prompt reply, “He loves them all.”   
  
“Oh, c’mon!” the youth’s face turned into a grimace. “Save this bullshit for the naïve peasants!” Something ringed in those words, something very close to an ancient bitterness.   
  
The archangel’s face darkened, but he restrained himself from reacting to the provocation. “Release the angel,” he demanded.   
  
  
“But I have already!” The young man’s face was all fake innocence as he gestured towards where the wounded angel was lying unmoving.   
  
In a flash of a second the archangel was kneeling near Yoochun. He touched his shoulder, sending him some part of his own strength. When the lying angel moved and raised his head, blinking and disoriented, the archangel asked: “Are you alright?”   
  
  
“I guess.” Yoochun’s thoughts were whirling in his head, memories escaping his grasp, when he tried to remember what had happened. Accepting the archangel’s help to get on his feet, he looked around, still dazed. “Where are we, Yun…?” But he was silenced by the other’s quick words, before the name could escape his lips. “Don’t! We are too far from our Father’s home to call each other by our names.”   
  
These words made Yoochun pause and pay more attention to their whereabouts. The involuntary gasp escaped him when he saw Jaejoong trapped within impromptu cage of blood and feathers and a certain dark-haired youth with  a malicious smile. In an instant he appraised the situation and was ready to interfere, if it wasn’t for a firm grip on his shoulder, which was not only restraining him from taking any action, but also holding him up, as he still felt rather weak.   
  
“It is time to get things clear,” said the archangel. “For what crime do you hold this angel captive?”   
  
This caused the dark-haired youth erupt in a fit of giggles. “A crime? Oh, no, not a crime at all,” his face was a mask of malicious wonder. “It is his own foolishness that got him into this situation,” he made a dramatic pause, “And his own will.”   
  
“His own will” – these words rang in Yoochun’s ears. At first he couldn’t believe what he had heard – it sounded so impossible. He could also feel the waves of disbelief radiate from the archangel. But as he watched the vicious youth bring his hand to his neck and play with the too familiar silver pendent, he had to believe.   
  
“But why, Jaejoong”, he whispered. “Why?”   
  
  
Still imprisoned in a horrid cell, unable to move or escape, Jaejoong could only lower his head and say: “I am sorry. But it was necessary.”   
Biting his lip Yoochun made a step forward, in spite of the weakness that still lingered in his limbs, and he felt no restraining hold of the elder angel.   
“Why are you asking for forgiveness, when it is not your fault?” he asked, frowning.   
  
“Because I am the only one to blame. It is my fault and nobody else’s. And since I can ask Him for forgiveness, I am asking you,” was his reply.   
  
“What fault are you asking forgiveness for?” asked the archangel.   
  
“And this condition, which appears so low, is for this cause assigned me, that my vows were, in some part, neglected and made void.” Jaejoong’s voice trembled with a hidden emotion. [4]   
  
The archangel shook his head, still not convinced, maybe sensing that there was more to it than had already been revealed.   
  
“You say that you are to blame for the crime we know no name of. You are asking for forgiveness your fellow angel, though you can’t ask our Father for the same.” The voice of the archangel was strong and clear, and Yoochun thought that he sounded more accusing than he was supposed to. “And so you, the brightest of His offsprings,” continued the warrior angel, “turn to him - him - that on his Maker turned the back, and of whose envying so much woe hath sprung!” [5]   
  
These words caused another burst of laughter from the devil youth. Leisurely moving from where he had been leaning on a stone cross all that time, he came up to stand before the captured angel. Still grinning he reached out and touched the porcelain cheek, smearing a drop of blood over the skin.   
  
“I think it is time for them to know the truth,” he said. “Don’t you think?” The dark orbs glanced up at him briefly, only to fix back on the earth. “To the Lord our God belong mercies and forgiveness; for we have rebelled against him, [6]” Jaejoong murmured quietly to himself.   
  
“What truth…” Yoochun’s heart was beating painfully in his chest. All his being was aching for his friend, hurting because he was hurt, feeling sad because he was sad. He desperately wished for it to be a horrid nightmare, so he could wake up and everything would be alright. But it wasn’t possible, because angels unlike humans slept dreamless sleeps.   
  
“The truth about the sin he has committed.” The tone was mistakingly gentle, as was the hand that kept petting the captive angel.   
  
“Whatever sin he has committed, Our Father shall forgive it,” said the archangel. Yoochun knew it, like knew everybody who was present there, that their Lord’s love knew no limits and any crime could be forgiven. But something in the way Jaejoong’s shoulders slumped at those words or maybe it was the feeling of dread that refused to abate – Yoochun knew it was an inexpiable sin. His worst fears were confirmed by the maliciously uttered words: “All their sins shall be forgiven, and their blasphemies wherewith soever they shall blaspheme: but whosoever shall blaspheme against the Holy Spirit hath never forgiveness, but is guilty of an eternal sin.”[7]   
  
The words rang in the utter silence for a second. And then as the devil youth stepped back, the horrible whirlwind resumed its pace, emitting a gasp from Jaejoong. Losing the remaining bits of strength he collapsed on his knees, as the invisible fingers kept stripping him of what defined his being – his wings. Jaejoong knew that he was condemned, there was no way he would survive it; he was already done for. But instead of accepting his fate and silently waiting for the blissful oblivion of death and release from agony, he suddenly felt a surging need to reveal the secret he had kept locked in his heart for a long time. “Mickey,” he gasped out his friend’s nickname, afraid to say his real name in the presence of his evil captor.   
  
Hearing his name spoken by Jaejoong, made Yoochun stumble forward and kneel in front of his friend. His heart clenching with pain, as he watched Jaejoong raise his head with a difficulty and look into his face. “My sin knows no forgiveness,” he rasped out, his view of Yoochun was partially concealed by the whirlpool around him. But he still could see the look of agony which matched his own at his beloved’s face.   
  
Swallowing a cry which threatened to escape his lips from some particularly painful stab, Jaejoong managed out: “For I loved you more than I loved Our Father.” Another jolt of pain almost made him collapse to the ground altogether. “I am sorry,” he whispered.   
  
  
And suddenly it all dawned on Yoochun. All became crystal clear to him – his capture and Jaejoong’s sacrifice, the extent of his love and courage. He closed his eyes, too overwhelmed with different emotions. But there was one thought that was throbbing in his mind, demanding attention. ‘This is all too real,’ he thought, ‘it is no dream.’   
  
“I forgive you,” he said, “forgive you for loving me, forgive you for sacrificing your life to save me. Forgive you for your silence, for not telling me sooner.” Yoochun felt a hot tear slide down his cheek. “I forgive you,” he repeated, “if only I could forgive myself…”   
  
With the hot tears half obscuring his vision, Yoochun watched as the last of remaining feathers were torn out, leaving a bloody wings skeleton in their place. Curled into himself from pain, Jaejoong looked like a grotesque heap of trash – bones and rugs, which used to be a living being. He had long stopped moving. Yoochun even doubted that he was still alive. He couldn’t see his face.  
  
“Jae…,” he whispered. He stretched his hand, but before he could touch him, Yoochun felt strong hands on his shoulders, helping him on his feet, pulling him away. A quiet voice of the archangel reached his ears: “I pity both of you.” And he was being led away from the fallen angel and to the bright light, which symbolized their home.   
  
But when he almost let himself be swallowed by the blinding light, before he made a final step over the border which separated the human world from the world of heaven, Yoochun turned around to glance at his friend for the last time. What he saw made him freeze for a moment.   
  
“What is it?” He heard the archangel’s inquiring tone. “Nothing,” he answered, quickly turning around and plunging them both into the white nothingness. And when he entered Heaven, all he could see in his mind was the shocking sight of the devil kneeling before Jaejoong, his hand fisting the raven locks and his lips feeding on the other’s mouth, as from his former friend’s back two black bat-like wings were pointing up at the sky.   
  
*****  
  
written: November 2005 - March 2006  
revised: May 22, 2013

**Author's Note:**

> References: 
> 
> [1] Dante “Divine Comedy”, Inferno, Canto III   
> [2] Dante “Divine Comedy”, Inferno, Canto III   
> [3] Dante “Divine Comedy”, Inferno, Canto III   
> [4] Dante “Divine Comedy”, Paradise, Canto III   
> [5] Dante “Divine Comedy”, Paradise, Canto IX   
> [6] Bible, Daniel 9:9   
> [7] Bible, Mark 3:29-30


End file.
